In the office, the two stood in silent confrontation, neither willing to yield as they stared fixedly at each other.
Their eyes reflected each other’s images, then flickered slightly. Simultaneously holding their breath, they averted their gaze with unspoken understanding, though neither knew what they were feeling guilty about.
Thump, thump, thump…
Perhaps it was the atmosphere, but their heartbeats quickened along with it.
Seeing him evade her gaze, Chu Duxiu found herself inexplicably flushing with heat. She was annoyed at herself for catching whatever he had—this was supposed to be a normal medical visit, yet it had somehow taken on an ambivalent tone. Especially when he turned his head away, revealing the tips of his ears, now bright red, leaving her utterly flustered.
Why did he have to resist so awkwardly? What was there for him to blush about!?
It made her seem like some kind of female hooligan!
Silence filled the room, yet the temperature seemed to rise with a burning intensity.
Xie Shenci was the first to break the silence. He pointed to a spot not far away, lowered his gaze, and said, “Stand over there. I’ll let you take a quick look.”
Chu Duxiu replied, “…Alright.”
Both sides took a step back, reaching a peaceful agreement.
Chu Duxiu obediently moved away, while Xie Shenci straightened up, maintaining a distance of two or three steps between them. With lightning speed, he opened his mouth and closed it again in barely a second, as if hoping she’d miss it in the blink of an eye.
Fortunately, Chu Duxiu had good eyesight. She managed to catch a glimpse and thoughtfully remarked, “It’s a wind-heat cold – not very contagious. What’s the name of the medicine you’ve been taking?”
Xie Shenci told her the name of the medication.
Chu Duxiu said, “It’s not quite suitable. Let’s see if there’s a pharmacy nearby and buy a new box later.”
After grabbing their things at the office, the two decided to head to the parking lot together and drive to a nearby pharmacy.
By the roadside, Xie Shenci pulled the car over, but Chu Duxiu didn’t let him get out. She opened the door, went into the pharmacy alone, and returned shortly with a plastic bag. She placed the medicine on the back seat before settling back into the car.
Chu Duxiu said, “Take this when you get back. Read the instructions yourself, or I can send you a WeChat message about it.”
Xie Shenci took out his phone and asked, “How much? I’ll transfer the money to you.”
“No need,” Chu Duxiu glanced at him. “If you really want to transfer something, make it something practical.”
Xie Shenci looked puzzled.
She teased, “Transfer some shares to me.”
He pondered for a few seconds before testing the waters, “If I really transfer shares to you, does that mean I don’t have to work anymore?”
“How could that be?” Chu Duxiu was taken aback. “Of course you still have to work. You just won’t make any money—the company’s business trips and ‘imprisonment’ will still rely on you, Mr. Xie.”
If he stopped working, how would she get dividends from her shares?
Xie Shenci: “…”
Indeed, the best exploiters in the world are those who have been exploited themselves.
Shanle absolutely cannot fall under the control of her and Shang Liang. There’s a certain probability that everyone else would be worked to death, with no room left for survival.
The car started and merged into the traffic.
After a short while, Chu Duxiu asked Xie Shenci to drop her off at the intersection, planning to cross the small street to reach her rented apartment.
Xie Shenci glanced at the familiar street corner. “Still at Jinze Apartments? Where Bei He and the others used to live?”
He had been here before and roughly knew the location of the apartments, though the car couldn’t drive in.
“Yeah, it’s quite convenient around here – supermarkets, subway stations, everything’s nearby.” Chu Duxiu unbuckled her seatbelt and waved goodbye. “You should rest early too when you get back. Remember to have some porridge before taking the medicine.”
Xie Shenci hummed in acknowledgment, his voice still slightly nasal. As he watched her about to leave, he suddenly said, “Send me a WeChat message.”
Chu Duxiu paused, then quickly understood. “…Alright, I’ll send it to you in a bit.”
She hadn’t expected him to say that. Given his earlier stubborn reluctance, she had almost suspected he would tough it out without taking the medicine.
With the car door closed, Chu Duxiu took a few steps forward, then turned back and waved once more before watching Xie Shenci drive away. She continued down the narrow street, lined with a variety of shops – convenience stores, fruit stands – offering a lively scene all the way.
The storefronts were packed to the brim, displaying piles of colorful fruits and vegetables that looked fresh and vibrant. A splash of pale yellow caught her eye: plump pears stacked into a small hill, their skins thin and flesh crisp, utterly appealing.
Spotting the fresh pears, Chu Duxiu instinctively paused and walked over.
Back in her apartment, Chu Duxiu drafted a message with instructions for taking the medicine and sent it to Xie Shenci, fulfilling her promise. After completing this, she began organizing the materials she had brought back from the office and tidied up the pears she had bought from the fruit stand.
Not long after, Xie Shenci sent back a photo of plain congee and cold medicine, earnestly reporting his progress.
Mr. Xie 10.9: [Drank it. Took it.]
Chu Duxiu: “?”
Was he some obedient elementary school student dutifully turning in his homework on time?
She half-considered virtually pinning a little red flower on him and praised: [So impressive!]
Xie Shenci didn’t type out a response but instead sent back a meme of a black cat lying peacefully on its back – a classic from the black cat sticker collection.
He seemed ready to call it a day.
Chu Duxiu set down her phone, jotted down a few lines of material, then found herself staring helplessly at the fresh pears by the sink. The golden-yellow pears were piled together, not yet washed, but their vibrant color was already captivating.
Why had she bought these pears? What had she been thinking?
It was unnecessary. He was a grown adult, not a stray cat. Missing a sip or two wouldn’t kill him.
Besides, tomorrow was a workday – it wouldn’t be appropriate to give them to him at the office. If anyone saw, it would be hard to explain.
Chu Duxiu gradually sensed a hint of danger, realizing she was on the verge of losing control of her innate tendencies. Whenever she cared about or paid attention to someone, she’d do things almost unconsciously – like embroidering flowers on her mother’s sweater as a child, or buying expensive scarves she’d never use herself as gifts for her sister. It was as if her mind had been hijacked, leaving her acting particularly foolish.
From childhood to now, the most absurd thing she’d ever done was persist through an entire summer making boxed lunches for Chu Shuangyou, who was attending a competition training class. Her parents had tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted on waking up early, joyfully preparing lunches like something out of an anime, and having her sister take them along.
That summer, Chu Shuangyou’s knowledge of competitive subjects grew – and so did Chu Duxiu’s culinary skills.
Is this a trip down memory lane?
Chu Duxiu muttered to herself, wrestling with whether to wash the fresh pears. After all, she’d already bought them, and leaving them around would just take up space.
The next day, things were back to normal at Shanle. The writers gradually returned to their desks, and the office was noticeably livelier compared to the weekend.
Xie Shenci’s office was located further inside. While directors like Shang Xiaomei had their offices on a different floor, Xie Shenci’s and Shang Liang’s rooms were adjacent to each other. To reach the leadership offices, one had to pass through the spacious outer area.
As Xie Shenci passed by Chu Duxiu’s workstation, he noticed her sitting at her desk and stopped, saying, “That medicine worked pretty well.”
His nasal congestion had eased slightly, not as severe as the day before, though his voice was still a bit hoarse.
“That’s good to hear.” Chu Duxiu pulled a bottle from the insulated bag beside her and casually handed it to him. “Here, this is for you.”
The transparent plastic bottle contained a pale golden pear soup, warm to the touch, still retaining the heat from when it was freshly made.
Xie Shenci asked curiously, “What is this?”
“Pear soup,” Chu Duxiu replied. “It’s good for colds – moistens the lungs and soothes coughs.”
“You made this?” He ran his fingers over the bottle cap, noticing it was a homemade container, not the uniform packaging of a convenience store. Inside were not just the pear soup but also finely chopped pear pieces, far more genuine than typical store-bought drinks.
“Yeah.” Chu Duxiu remained composed, adding with interest, “I tested out the apartment kitchen. It turns out even without gas, cooking is still doable.”
Her tone was natural as she made small talk, and she seemed entirely at ease while giving him the pear soup.
“Thank you.”
After expressing his gratitude, Xie Shenci headed toward his office, unable to suppress a slight smile. On his way, he couldn’t resist unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip. The smooth pear soup slid down his throat—simmered for hours with snow pear and rock sugar, its delicate sweetness spread across his tongue, refreshing and comforting.
The warm pear soup eased his discomfort, lifting his spirits along the way.
Xie Shenci reached the doorway, then remembered something about theater tickets and turned back to the adjacent room to ask Shang Liang for an update. As soon as he stepped inside, a drink bottle on the desk caught his attention—it was identical to the one in his hand.
Xie Shenci froze. “Where did this come from?”
Shang Liang glanced up, noticed Xie Shenci pointing at the pear soup, and lowered his head again to continue reviewing documents. “Chu Duxiu gave it to me.”
Xie Shenci: “?”
“What’s wrong?” Shang Liang asked, not hearing a response. He looked up at Xie Shenci, noticed the bottle in his hand too, and smirked. “You didn’t think you were the only one who got one, did you?”
He clicked his tongue. “She made too much this morning and gave some to everyone in the group. Xiaomei just took a bottle too.”
Chu Duxiu had arrived early that day, carrying a bag of pear soup she distributed to everyone she knew, mentioning she was testing out her apartment kitchen.
Xie Shenci, who showed up right on time, naturally had no idea about this.
Shang Liang’s eyebrows raised with a meaningful look. His face might as well have been saying, “No way, no way – don’t tell me Mr. Xie actually thought she was buttering him up. What a self-important boss.”
Xie Shenci: “…”
Refusing to believe it, Xie Shenci took a stroll around the office only to find that Wang Nali and Scallion also had bottles of pear soup on their desks – each identical to his.
A while later, a WeChat notification popped up in the lower right corner of Chu Duxiu’s screen. It was a message from Xie Shenci.
Mr. Xie 10.9: [Little black cat glaring angrily.jpg]
Chu Duxiu: “?”
What was going on now?
Why was he getting more fired up the more pear soup he drank?
Recently, Shanle Culture has been busy preparing for additional shows of “There’s an Inside Joke We’d Like to Share,” with plans not only for the premiere in Haicheng but also confirmed performances in theaters across Yancheng, Nancheng, and other cities, gradually rolling out a tour.
Amid the hustle, another major event unfolded online: Lu Yi, who had long remained silent and engaged in deleting posts, broke his silence for the first time on Weibo, issuing a public apology to the top four contestants and the broader online community.
He posted a lengthy apology letter, sincere in content and eloquent in wording, explaining that his intense desire to nurture talent and his inappropriate remarks had led him to harm many contestants while attempting to revitalize the stand-up comedy industry. He expressed deep reflection on his mistakes and a resolve to invest in more comedy programs and performances in the future, comprehensively fostering industry talent to make up for the significant harm caused to the stand-up comedy community.
The letter also mentioned his desire to collaborate deeply with Shanle Culture, leveraging his public influence to contribute in a modest way to the promotion of stand-up comedy. However, Shanle had yet to respond, and he expressed hope that both sides could move forward hand in hand, setting aside the tensions from the finals to stride toward shared ideals.
The release of the apology letter stirred another uproar, once again sparking heated public discussion.
[Folks, Black Light Lu’s PR team has stepped in – this letter is on a whole different level compared to his finals speech.]
[How is it not the same level? It looks like an apology but is actually stirring the pot, zero emotional intelligence.]
[TL;DR: I’m starting a comedy company now, so you’d better play along! Shanle better join forces with me, no conditions!]
[Give you face? No face!]
[Shameless, shameless, shameless!]
[Ugh, Shanle issues an apology letter, so you do too? Shanle does stand-up, so you jump on the bandwagon? What a top-tier copycat!]
[You didn’t apologize earlier – was it because your company wasn’t set up yet? Now you’re here to cash in?]
[I’m starting to believe some of the rumors: Lu Yi signed Cheng Junhua, Shanle signed Chu Duxiu. Stand-up comedy is hitting its boom, both sides are fighting for market share, making behind-the-scenes investments, and sooner or later they’ll go head-to-head. That’s why he docked her one light…]
[Chengjing Video has already announced it: Lu Yi is producing an S+ comedy variety show, and the promo is directly targeting Shanle’s programs.]
[Why would anyone still fund his shows? Isn’t his reputation already ruined??]
[It’s dawned on me—it’s not Shanle I hate the most. It’s still you, Lu Yi!]
Lu Yi’s public apology online once again dragged Cheng Junhua into the spotlight. Since Cheng Junhua had been completely silent after the finals – unlike Chu Duxiu, who, despite not making public appearances, had signed with Shanle – rumors about him grew increasingly wild and unfounded.
Many speculated with malicious intent, suggesting that he and Lu Yi were in cahoots, perhaps having secretly colluded early on to jointly establish a company and compete with Shanle, the current industry leader, for market share.
Eventually, a relative of Cheng Junhua stepped in on his behalf, taking to Weibo to debunk the rumors. They clarified that Cheng Junhua had never engaged in any form of collaboration with Lu Yi or his company, nor had he ever intended to sign with Lu Yi’s firm. They also warned that legal action would be pursued against those spreading false claims. This finally put an end to the baseless negative comments.
The relative stated that Cheng Junhua had been deeply affected by the finals and decided to focus on creative work at home, with no domestic performances planned for the time being. They expressed hope that public opinion would refrain from harming innocent individuals.
This response was no less than a resounding slap in the face to Lu Yi. No matter how well-crafted his apology letter was, its contents now came across as hypocritical and insincere.
After all, if even Cheng Junhua could step back from pursuing financial gains, why was the one apologizing now launching new programs?
Netizens were momentarily swept up in collective outrage, condemning Lu Yi’s shameless actions while fearing the potential success of his new show.
Despite the fierce criticism online, Chengjing Video’s variety show production team was known for its quality. Moreover, with the intentional rivalry with Lingguo Video’s “The Stand-Up King,” it remained uncertain whether Lu Yi might actually manage to rehabilitate his image through this venture.
At Shanle Culture, everyone was equally furious upon learning about the online uproar.
Chu Duxiu and the others were diligently working on their material at the company when they noticed commotion in the publicity department. It didn’t take long for them to catch wind of the news online. Lu Yi was establishing a company directly targeting Shanle, planning not only to invest in offline stand-up comedy performances but also to co-produce shows with Chengjing Video. It was a clear, all-out assault on Shanle Culture, both on and off the screen.
Scallion exclaimed in disbelief, “How can there be someone so shameless in this world!?”
Wang Nali fumed, “His apology letter is utter nonsense—acting like he’s some big deal who’s contributed so much to stand-up comedy. Isn’t it just because he saw how much money our show made?”
“The Stand-Up King” had gradually built a reputation and become a flagship program for Lingguo Video. If the production company could release one or two variety shows of the same caliber each year, it could sustain the entire company through various revenue streams.
While performers could earn income through commercial deals and appearances on other shows, the company needed flagship projects to maintain its vitality. This was precisely why Shang Liang insisted the show must continue. The company wasn’t just home to performers – it also employed other staff who relied on stable, ongoing projects.
“Ah—” Chu Duxiu said calmly, “Let’s be objective. He is indeed impressive and has made significant contributions to stand-up comedy.”
Wang Nali retorted indignantly, “How? Lu Yi doesn’t even understand stand-up comedy!”
“He made us realize that no matter how carefully the performers prepare their material, none of it is as hilarious as his apology letter!” Chu Duxiu declared with conviction. “He instantly shattered our conventional understanding of comedy techniques from textbooks. How can such laughable material not be considered a contribution!?”
Just when they were struggling to write material for the additional shows, Lu Yi had delivered yet another batch of comedic inspiration!
Wang Nali and Scallion: “???”
